


Songbirds and Stigma (Take my Hand)

by Doodled93, XPerimental



Series: XPeri Fanfiction [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geraskier Week 2020, M/M, Multi, Other, Pictures, Scars, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodled93/pseuds/Doodled93, https://archiveofourown.org/users/XPerimental/pseuds/XPerimental
Summary: You either have a Soulmate or you don't-- Your scars either appear on your Soulmates body, or a picture does.Jaskier has always known that he’d find his soulmate through adventure: he had the scars to prove it.Geralt has gone most of his life knowing he didn't have one.Day 1 of Geraskier Week 2020-- Soulmates
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: XPeri Fanfiction [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626796
Comments: 14
Kudos: 290





	Songbirds and Stigma (Take my Hand)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS is going to be a bit of a long one! Multi chaptered! Rating may change OR we'll post something extra and link it.  
> Check end of chapter for content warnings-- this one is a one-off and will not be a theme :) 
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

Jaskier has always known that he’d find his soulmate through adventure: he had the scars to prove it.

Scars as thin as a lute string and thick as his fingers have been slow to appear ever since he hit puberty—and what a strange blow that had been, to have his previously unmarked skin so seriously scattered with marks. Impressive to brag, certainly, but without the knowledge of how they came to be... to know with some certainty that his soulmate had already lived such a hard life. There was also the fact that his soul mate was likely older than him by a fair mark... or rather, he somewhat _hoped_ that was the case. It made something in him clench at the thought that someone out there who he was connected to by destiny was in regular, consistent harm...

He has a thought, when he’s just finishing his first apprenticeship with his towns local bard, that he doesn’t recall having gained any scars of his own.

He’d fallen out of a tree once—well, twice, but fate had conspired to stick his favourite pipes in the wedge of two branches on the way down the first time—but all it had gotten him was some nasty bruising and a rather simple tune about a man who climbed to the stars for his love. However, given where he grew up and that the tune was only on a simple reed flute, without training, he can perhaps give his younger self some slack.

However, the fact that he has no scars of his own spirals in his head like a great seabird to eventually land heavy on the thought that his soulmate, older as they must surely be, that they may not know they _have_ a soulmate.

That Soulmarks aren’t consistent means nothing—or rather, it does, but the thought rolls rough and ragged in his mind that someday his soul mate may yet get into some spot of trouble, some scuffle, maybe a battle or war, and be thinking to themself _ah, at least I don’t have a soulmate to miss me when I’m dead_.

Terribly romantic, that, but also completely unacceptable.

There is, of course, a possibility that his soulmate will have an image instead of sharing a body of scars, but anyone could tell you that most soulmates will each share one or the other. It’s an unlucky and rare few who share opposites.

Jaskier can’t help but run an anxious hand against his inner thigh, rubbing where he has a thick scar, his other arm coming around to hug himself and press to what were clearly teeth marks from some great beast on his shoulder. He has many, many markings to remind him that he has someone out there—and more show up every few months, some large, mostly smaller ones, some _fade_ , and the continent is large and there’s no guarantee...

He can’t do it—he gets to the point where he has a knife and it’s over the back, fleshy part of his forearm, and he’s, he’s going to—

 _Not_ do it, is the thing, he doesn’t like pain, doesn’t imagine he’d be happy if his soul mate did, did something like that, just _can’t_ —

He couldn’t tell you how he managed it, falling the way he did, but there’s a moment that hangs above his head where _there’s pain in his hand_ , and he’d most definitely felt a _crunch_ , and it _hurt_ , hand trapped under his weight and his friend scrambling off him from where they tumbled... he gets up, gingerly, to find his reed flute crushed on the ground, one curved edge bloody where it cut his hand.

He very deliberately doesn’t think about the relief he feels later, not that his hand will heal with only a scar, but that he—

Well.

The new scars are slow to appear as the years continue—which is _good_ , to be clear, good his soulmate isn’t gaining a new scar daily, but some of the scars make him... worried. It’s hard to believe anyone could survive for those scars to... _form_. But with every battle hardened person to pass through town, Jaskier makes it a point to take a glance at the back of their hand. Anyone who looks like they may be able to survive a large bite so close to their neck, to live through a cut so close to their groin... and even if they don’t have his same mark, Jaskier spends some enjoyable time with a few getting to know their bodies. Lets them compare scars and release their tension one in the same.

When he hits the road with his lute and supplies, it’s with nerves and determination. He _will_ be a successful bard—no, he’s going to be _the most famous bard_. Everyone will know his name, and that name will be _Jaskier_. He will. He _will_ find his soulmate, and he’ll write _ballads_ about their victories for every scar they share.

xXx

Vesemir once told him something along the lines that an artist will make with one small painting what a scribe will make for a book. It was to highlight the fact that those who had money to throw around at artists seemed ill equipped to appreciate a good book... and to hammer home that people will hire them not for their knowledge of monsters but for their skill in painting the landscape in whatever colour blood of their prey.

However, the words rang differently in his memory when, after a long month of living and sleeping in his armor, he finally has a chance to rinse off the much of a long job in a river and finds a riot of colour. This wouldn’t be abnormal if it were the usual bruising. Witchers healed quickly, but he’s had bruises last two or three days in the past... but _this_. One picture may be worth a book of words, but...

He doesn’t know what to do with the... the _flock_ that swooped and curved across his skin, all different birds mid-flight across his muscles.

He ran his fingers across a magpie in miniature on his sternum, past a bird he didn’t recognize, a cluster of colourful sparrows, a purple martin, a barn swallow... the birds don’t end past his ribs or over his shoulders, he can’t see clearly but there are more birds across his back. He had a magpie on one bicep and a skylark on the other.

He had a whole fucking menagerie painting across his skin.

He had— after _all these years_ , he—

“Fuck.”

He had a soulmate.

“... _Fuck._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> CW: First chapter (prologue) does include a brief consideration of self harm that is dismissed. This will not be a theme. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read! Let us know if we've missed any tags!  
> We'll be posting more once we have a bit more written out-- this one will be a bit more plot heavy, and while we won't both be posting for every day for Geraskier week... we're making somewhat of an attempt :D  
> (@shirleyliang.tattoos on ig for inspiration on Geralts soul mark)  
> ~XPeri (tumblr: @xperiwrites )  
> ~Doodled93 (tumblr: @doodled93 )


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